The Truth About Editing

In my nine years’ experience editing (editor of a monthly magazine for seven, freelance editor of books/theses/ papers/articles, etc., since), I’ve found one idea more difficult for new writers to grasp than any other.

Here it is: true editing is absolutely, unwaveringly impersonal. That’s it.

When I edit, I don’t worry about the writer. I worry about the work. I don’t think about whether or not the writer will be upset or elated (yeah, right) at my changes. I think either “that’s well written” and I leave it, or I think “that could be better” and I find a way to fix it. It’s my job to be objective, and one parameter to that objectivity is that my consideration begins and ends with the work.

Here’s an analogy: suppose you’re eating in a restaurant, and you notice that the dish in front of you needs salt. You salt it. In effect, you’ve edited it. You’ve made it more palatable, and you’ve increased the odds that you’ll eat all the way to the end of the dish. You don’t (I hope!) worry about how the cook will feel if you salt the food. You don’t expect the cook to take it personally. You’d think it odd if he did, because you didn’t mean it as a criticism of his cooking ability or his character. You merely noticed a small area that could use improvement and you improved it.

That’s editing: making improvements that increase the odds that the reader will read all the way to the end.

The thing that’s odd to me is that people who don’t care a bit if you salt food they’ve cooked become upset or defensive when you edit what they’ve written. I guess they expect you to salt the food (that’s socially acceptable editing and nearly everyone does it). Most of us have seen food being salted all our lives, and also seen cooks taking it with equanimity. But, for fledgling writers, having their writing edited is a much less familiar experience and, lacking a social blueprint for reaction, they go with whatever their emotional discomfort at the process dictates. Defensiveness, embarrassment, slinking off — whatever.

Editing isn’t intended to embarrass the writer. Now, have I had things submitted to me that should never have seen the light of day? You bet. Do I occasionally sympathize with those editors who feel moved to write “Rejected, start over, and don’t resubmit until you learn the basics!” across some wretched waste of pulp and ink? You bet. Does the writer find that embarrassing? I’m sure he or she does. But I don’t think that was the intention.

The process of writing must fundamentally be about truth, and in the above instance, I think the editor realizes that he or she is the only half of the process that has even a hope of being honest. The writer who thinks that the submission — sloppy, ungrammatical, error-ridden, rife with shoddy syntax, poorly plotted, unable to settle on a point of view, historically inaccurate, etc. — is ready for publication is not being honest with himself. The writer has not done his homework, and thinks he can get away with it and the editor simply won’t notice. The writer is being dishonest with himself and dishonest with the editor — and should not be surprised or hurt when the editor calls him on it.

That’s the editor’s obligation. If the editor participates in the dishonesty, two things will happen: the readership the author might eventually enjoy will plummet. So will the readership of the publication put out by the editor’s boss. Thus, we as editors are left with no other path but rigid, impersonal honesty about the work in front of us. We cannot indulge in considering the writer’s feelings — so we simply don’t.

Don’t take it personally…

~ by seriouswriter on June 5, 2007.